30 Days of Writing Drabbles 'Avengers'
by LovelyStrumpet
Summary: A series of 30 stand alone drabbles inspired by the 'word of the day' taken from the '30 Days of Writing: A Drabble a Day Challenge' on tumblr. To include Loki/all Avengers characters/FrostIron/Thor/Young Loki/AU's/different character POV's. Rated T for now, expect humour/angst/romance/feels/maybe death/maybe slash/maybe fluff...
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: First drabble, hope you enjoy! Any reviews/comments/suggestions welcome, for this piece or any future pieces! _

_Content: Young Loki, angst, the moment where it all starts going wrong...the 'beginning' of Loki's breakdown._

_Disclaimer: I own none of the characters_

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**Day 1: 'Beginning'.**

Loki and Thor had always done everything together; joined at the hip; as close as can be, brothers and best friends. They played together, ate together, attended lessons together and more often than not crept into each others rooms after everyone else had gone to bed and spent a few sleepy moments laughing and whispering together before falling asleep, two bundles wrapped up in the same sheet, snoring together. Their maids always found them like this in the morning, but never said anything, never rebuked them; they just smiled because no one had ever seen such love and affection between two boys as there was between the two Odinsons.

Growing up meant growing into themselves, and although there were clear differences in their personalities and demeanour, they still remained as close as ever. Thor was loud, confident, a fantastic fighter, excelling at martial arts, interested in history and war; he was popular, with many friends outside the palace. Loki was smaller and quieter, with no real interest in physical combat; he wasn't as strong as his brother and he didn't enjoy the fights, preferring instead to lose himself in books and the arts, specifically the practice of magic and enchantments. Whereas Thor was the golden boy, practically shining, centre of everyone's attention, Loki was his darker shadow, always on the outskirts, enjoying his own company. But the boys loved each other for their differences, and for who they were, they didn't see either of themselves as superior or inferior.

But that wasn't true of everyone.

It was the little things that Loki began to notice, the little things that pricked at his conscious and caused a momentary stab of pain in his otherwise enjoyable life. The way their 'friends' would always call for Thor, only greeting Loki if he showed up alongside his brother. The way their servers offered Thor first refusal of every meal, after Odin and Frigga, passing over Loki even if it was one of his favourites. The way their swordsmaster always praised Thor, but criticised Loki, making jests about his scrawny arms and weak stance. The only thing that Loki excelled in was his academic studies, and that hardly won him any recognition at all, because people were used to him being clever, used to him getting the best marks. Consequently, whenever Thor did something even a little over his usual (lower) standard, he was praised extravagantly, while Loki sat nearby and wondered where his prize for the last 8-years-plus-and-counting had been. For although Loki used to see the differences between himself and Thor, they never bothered him, not until he realised that they seemed to bother everyone else.

And even this didn't hurt him really, not properly, not until the one day he realised that they bothered the one person who he had always counted on, the one person who had always made him feel good about himself, the one person who always made an effort with him and always made sure he felt loved and included.

Thor hadn't meant to slight Loki, hadn't meant to upset him; he had merely woken up, got dressed and set off to meet his friends who were waiting outside for him; they were going on an adventure into the forest and had packed up knapsacks for their journey, with enough snacks and games and supplies to keep them occupied for days. Loki woke to the sound of laughter trailing up to his open window, and he rose sleepily out of bed, wondering what the excitement was about. He was just pulling his cotton undershirt off when he caught site of who the group outside his window was, and he stopped abruptly, a lump rising in his throat, his hands curling into the fabric of his shirt. Thor was there, and Sif and Volstagg and Fandral and Hogan, his little group; although now it seemed they were Thor's little group and he didn't belong anymore, because he hadn't known there was a trip planned and Thor had never mentioned it and neither had any of the others and no one had invited him. He hadn't even had chance to accept or refuse the adventure, he had been overlooked, forgotten and abandoned by the people who were supposedly his friends. More than that, he had been forgotten and abandoned by the one person who could have made that OK.

As tears fell silently from Loki's eyes, he realised that it wasn't the knowledge that they didn't want him that was causing that stabbing ache in his chest. It wasn't that they had said no.

It was that they hadn't said anything at all.

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_Hope you enjoyed the first drabble! Also check out my ongoing FrostIron fic, Doors Open From Both Sides, on here and on my tumblr - .com :)_


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: Thought it was about time I practiced writing something that wasn't angst…thanks to everyone who's read and alerted and favourite so far, really appreciate it! Also, don't forget to check out my Tony/Loki long fic, 'Doors Open From Both Sides' – updated today!_

_Content: Tony, Steve, humour, implicit FrostIron._

_Disclaimer: I own nothing. Except maybe the pants._

**Day 2. 'Accusation'.**

Tony Stark was biting down a laugh. Any moment now, it threatened to erupt, and that accusatory, disapproving look on Steve Rogers' face was going to be taken up to the next level. He couldn't help it though. He really couldn't. And he hadn't done it on purpose. It had just, well, sort of _happened_.

'It' was on the table between the two of them, innocently looking for all the world like it belonged there. But it didn't. It _really_ didn't. Because 'it' happened to be a pair of expensive looking charcoal grey designer underpants, casually languishing next to the (half knocked over) stack of placemats.

Only one person had underpants like that. Steve knew it, Tony knew it, and Tony knew Steve knew it.

''Tony. Would you care to explain why your underpants are attempting to watch me eat breakfast?'' Steve's voice was measured, but Tony couldn't fail to notice the slight blush that was creeping up the Captains neck. Bless him. He still hadn't quite managed to let go of his 20's prudishness.

''Sorry wonderboy, I just can't help it when I'm around you. It's like, one look at those star spangled muscles and 'poof' my pants are gone.'' Tony couldn't help it, teasing his friend was just _too easy_, and he grinned as the blush rose all the way up to the Captains cheeks and blossomed into a bright rosy pink.

''This isn't funny Tony, this – this is a matter of hygiene! And respect! We all live together now, and we have to respect the communal spaces – especially the spaces we _eat off_!'' Steve was flustered, and Tony was unashamed to say he was enjoying every second. He'd had a shit eating grin plastered on his face ever since he woke up, and it was going to take more than a semi-irate Captain Rogers to wipe it off.

''Gee, I'm sorry soldier. Should have known you weren't up with the programme. Did they never combine food and sex in your day? You missed out man, seriously, wanna see what I mean?'' He waggled his eyebrows suggestively at his friend; honestly, this guy just _asked_ for it.

Steve was now turning an even deeper shade of red, and couldn't seem to look Tony in the eye. He was going to combust at this rate if he didn't calm down.

''Just – just get them out of here! And I don't want the details! It's bad enough seeing your conquests sneak out of the door every second morning, and I'm not judging you, or at least I'm really trying not to, but will you _please_ just keep your business in your own bedroom. Please. For the sake of my…for the sake of my stomach. Seriously, toast with a side of underpants is more than I can take on a morning. And besides, it's disrespectful to Natasha.''

''Disrespectful to _Natasha_? Seriously? You think she hasn't seen _underpants_ before? Besides, I'd have a word with her myself if I were you, before you go on your next cleaning spree and tidy away all of Clint's arrows – you ever wonder why most of them find their way into her corridor?'' Tony's smirk and suggestive eyebrows were back, and he delighted in the way Steve's eyes grew to roughly the size of small dinner plates as he processed the implications of what Tony had just said.

''What – _no_ – seriously? Ok – what – well look, never mind, that's not the issue right here - '' the poor guy really was stumbling over his words now, he probably hadn't had a morning as sexually explicit as this in his entire life. Which is probably why Tony chose that moment to make a mental note to change the default channel settings on Steve's TV to anything and everything that had an 'X' in the title. Preferably three.

'' – the issue _is_, Tony, that the rest of the house doesn't want a souvenir from every time you have sex. So will you _please_ just remove these pants and we'll say no more about it''.

''Ok, ok, keep your hair on. If it's any consolation, I removed the _other _pair from the hallway earlier. Must have missed these. My sincerest apologies…''

Tony wondered if the other man would get his not-so-subtle hint, it was pretty damn obvious, but then again, this was _Steve_. Maybe he better reiterate it. It was just too good to waste.

''…Yeah, I didn't want green silk boxers to be the reason we were taking you to A&E with a ruptured hernia before even the breakfast news update…''

He watched Steve closely, grin pulling at either side of his mouth, and could practically see the cogs whirring and the pennies dropping into place. Steve's face transformed from one of slight disgust and confusion to pure unadulterated horror as he remembered _he'd_ been on washing duty that week, and the room he'd left freshly laundered green silk boxers outside of was…..it was…..

Tony burst out laughing and dived for the exit, practically racing back to his room in triumph at having successfully scarred the Captain's mind, probably for life. As he reached his door and threw it open, revealing the pale, beautiful, _naked_ form of the god inside, he heard Steve's eventual outburst following him up the stairs –

''_TOOOONNNYYYYYY!''_


	3. Chapter 3

_WARNING: CHARACTER DEATH! /sobbing imminent/ /I'm sorry/ /I hurt too/I WAS HAVING TOO MANY FEELS_

**Day 3. Haze**.

… ''_could have been utterly obliterated''…_

… ''_lucky he wasn't pulverized'…_

… ''_lucky we all weren't''…_

…_A sniffle, the sound of a chair scraping, a faint sob, a low, monotonous beep…_

He couldn't move, he couldn't see, he felt heavy, heavier than he'd ever felt before, his limbs were like lead and he ached, he ached so much he couldn't even work out where the pain was coming from.

He was lying down, or at least he thought he was.

He could hear.

He could hear Steve and Bruce, and Clint and Natasha and Thor, and those sobs, they had to be Peppers. He could sense them nearby, and yet he felt so far away, so fuzzy, like he was floating but he was so heavy, and that doesn't make sense, he doesn't understand.

He could smell, a faint sterilized scent mixed with blood and fire and the acrid cloying of burning metal. He could smell antiseptic and vomit and defeat.

… ''_just can't comprehend…''_

… ''_he was doing fine''…_

… ''_just seemed to fall, the suit exploded''…_

… ''_the flames''…_

… ''_and Loki appeared, and….but what if…and how do we tell him…?''_

And the voices trailed away again, but the questions still hung, as if everyone else already knew the answers, but he doesn't even know the question, and he doesn't understand.

_Loki._ That word was burrowing into his foggy brain, he knew that word, it meant something. Something big. _Loki_.

And suddenly he knew, he remembered what Loki was, who he was. Loki, the man who he loved and would have given anything for, Loki who had fallen into an ambush by…someone…and he had called to Tony and Tony had taken the suit, and rounded up his friends, and they had gone to help, gone to assist Loki, and there was fire and there was explosions and there was the enemy and there was death and there was destruction.

And Tony remembered standing on top of an apartment block, and shooting at someone, and then suddenly everything went white, white hot, and he was falling, and the suit was like a furnace, and he was exploding, and the pain was too much, he was screaming, it was agony, he was trapped in a fireball and he was going to die. And then there was Loki, grabbing him – somehow, he didn't know – and muttering in a foreign language, his words falling over themselves in a panic, the gods face terrified and distraught and he was crying and shaking and begging, he was pleading with Tony to live, and then he went silent, and everything went black, and Tony doesn't remember anything else, and he doesn't understand.

And now he was here, wherever here was, and the pain had returned and he still couldn't move, but he could still hear, and he had yet to hear the voice of the one he needed most of all. He strained, strained against the prison he seemed to be in, tried to talk to his friends, get their attention, for they couldn't be that far away, he needed to ask them where Loki was. And where he was. But his voice stayed inside his throat, no matter how much his head screamed.

And he heard it, _that name_, it wasn't _him_, but it was his name, and he stopped struggling, and he listened and –

''_The doctors say we shouldn't get our hopes up…by rights all his organs have failed…his skin is 85% burns…we have to…have to prepare ourselves…''_

…_another fresh sob…_

… ''_Loki tried, and we'll forever be indebted to him…whatever happens…he made the sacrifice and…and it was more than he was obliged to…''_

… '_It'll break Tony's heart…''_

Doctors…80% burns…organs…_were they talking about me? _And what was that…about Loki, and sacrifice…surely that couldn't mean…sacrifice usually meant…Loki couldn't be dead, couldn't have _gone_, he couldn't have just _left_ Tony, not here, not in this state, not when he was trapped inside himself and he needed Loki to break him out. No, no, no no no, he was wrong, he was confused, they were wrong, everything was a mistake, and he lay there in his silent prison and he still couldn't speak but he's still screaming inside, because they don't get it, they're _wrong_, and he doesn't understand.

He could feel tears leaking into his eyes, but there was nowhere for them to go, and they welled up and they stung, and he wanted desperately just to open his eyes and to cry. And the more he lay there the more suffocated he felt, and the tears kept welling up and the ache still throbbed and the beeping in the background grew more intense and everything was too much and he couldn't bear it and he wanted it all to stop, he wanted to wake up.

And suddenly he felt a hand clutching his, a cool hand, long and thin and soft, and he knew that hand, and suddenly it was OK, and he wasn't crying anymore, and he could have laughed, he could have sang with joy, because it was Loki's hand, so Loki couldn't be dead, his friends _were_ wrong. And then he found he could open his eyes, and he was staring up at Loki, and Loki looked perfect, and he was pale and beautiful and clean and smiling, and he didn't look like he'd been in a battle at all, and he was gazing down at Tony with so much love and so much pride.

And Loki offered him his other hand, and Tony found he could move now, and nothing hurt anymore, and so he sat up and he grabbed hold of Loki and he let the god pull him to his feet, and it really is that easy, he knew it, he knew he just needed Loki, and Loki asks him if he's ready, and of course he agrees because it's _Loki_, but he doesn't understand.

And they're nearly at the door, and Loki is pulling him forward and Tony is grinning, but just before either of them can reach for the handle Tony hears a scream, the most horrible scream he's ever heard in his life, and a long continuous beep, and the clatter of a chair toppling over, and he turns around and he sees them, he sees his friends, they're gathered round a bed but Pepper's crumpled on the floor and Steve's whole face is broken and Bruce has gone white with shock and Natasha has tears streaming down her cheeks. And they're all looking at a figure on the bed, a figure lying perfectly still, a figure with brown messy hair and a body completely covered in bandages and wires and connected to a machine that is displaying a very obvious, very thick blue flat line.

And Tony looks at the figure and he looks at his friends and he looks back at Loki, and Loki's smiling again and it's a sad smile, but reassuring all the same, and he's found the handle and he's opened the door.

And Tony finally understands.


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: I'm still feeling guilty about my sadfic yesterday! Here's something that isn't exactly happy, but it definitely shouldn't make you cry. Just an idea that came off the top of my head whilst eating breakfast. I kind of want to develop this into a longer fic now…maybe in time!_

_Content: Loki learns (well, sort of – hinted rather than explicit) of his heritage in an entirely different way. Young!Loki (around 11/12), still mostly in character/accurate settings, just not canon. Semi AU. Rated K. _

_Disclaimer: I own no characters or scenes, only the original idea._

**Knowledge.**

It was purely accidental; Loki wasn't even searching for that particular book, all he wanted was to finish his history assignment and the specific text that his tutor had set him seemed so far to be eluding his efforts to find it. Sighing in frustration and raking a hand through his hair, Loki's emerald green eyes flitted over the shelf for the thirtieth time, determined not to be defeated. It had to be here, no one else would currently have any use for stories surrounding the wars of the nine realms in the last century; and he would have bet an ounce of his magic that Thor hadn't even started the assignment yet, no matter that it was due tomorrow morning. His older brother would inevitably shuffle into Loki's room in the early hours of the morning, exhausted from spending yet another whole day laughing and adventuring and play fighting with his friends, and wheedle flatteries in Loki's direction, begging him to 'just help me out a bit, please Loki, I've got the basics down, honest'. And Loki would roll his eyes and shove his completed assignment at Thor, and Thor would hug Loki gratefully and promise that this would never happen again and that Loki was the cleverest brother in the entire universe and how would Thor ever repay him. It seemed he never came up with an answer to that question, yet it didn't stop him repeating his promise week after week.

Loki didn't mind, not really, he could see that his strengths were completely opposite to Thor's, and vice versa, much like their physical statures – Thor simply wasn't interested in or good at academic study, and Loki was absolutely abysmal at strength training, preferring to study the skill and strategy of a fight as opposed to relying on brawn – but they complimented each other well; Loki allowing Thor to 'borrow' his notes every so often and Thor 'accidentally' missing Loki when they sparred together.

But today, now, if Loki didn't find that damn book himself then Thor was going to be sorely disappointed when he finally remembered their assignment and sought out Loki for 'help'. Spying an unidentified volume covered in aging black leather and what looked like a decades worth of dust on the very bottom shelf of the bookcase, Loki bent down out of curiosity, he doubted very much that it'd be _the_ book, but he hadn't noticed this particular spine before, and that surprised him, he thought he knew every inch of the palace library. Tugging the small volume out from its place, Loki realised that it was usually hidden by the ladder, the ladder which he had moved a little while earlier in order to do yet another repeat check of the topmost shelves.

Blowing most of the dust off its cover, Loki idly flicked through, catching the odd word here and there – the Bifrost; his father, Odin; the Frost Giants; battles; Jotunheim. The ink was of a different kind to most of the books he had read before; it looked newer, more like handwriting, and had no illustrations.

Unusual.

His interest piqued, he temporarily forgot about the elusive history book and took this new find over to a table, where he smoothed down the covers and started from page one. Apparently it was some kind of appraisal on the relationship between Asgard and Jotunheim, detailing wars and truces and battles and invasions. He had always been fascinated by the Frost Giants, they were so satisfyingly scary and strange and intriguing; he knew his father had had dealings with their king, Laufey, around the time he was born, he knew they were currently at peace, but he also knew their past battles were bloodthirsty, dangerous, ruthless and savage. Thor had been delighted upon learning of the wars with Jotunheim, he _loved_ battle stories, and in every role playing game or swords practice he'd pretended to declare attack after attack on the barbarian primates, always making Loki play the part of the Frost Giant. Which was a joke really, because Loki was smaller than Thor, scrawnier, of slighter build and quieter temperament, indeed the exact opposite of a so called giant – the only similarity Loki shared to the Frost Giants was his natural propensity to feel the cold more deeply than most other AEsirs, and everyone just put that down to Loki being small and (in the kindliest way possible) a bit runt-y, favouring staying inside learning things rather than weathering his skin in the palace gardens and forests with Thor.

The book was indeed fascinating, and Loki moved quickly through the chapters, enjoying the personal manner of writing and the familiarity of the language – it seemed oddly like he was reading his fathers words in places, some of the turns of phrase and manners of speech were exactly how Odin sounded when he was being all authoritive and addressing a serious matter at court or dinner.

Realising it was getting late and that he still hadn't found the history book or finished his assignment, Loki told himself he'd read just one more chapter before going back to the hunt. It was the last one, after all – _my, time had gone quick_ – and he had reached the point of the battle 12 years ago where the Asgardian army had conquered Jotunheim, and his father was arranging the truce with Laufey before bringing his army back to be praised and revered by all in the realm.

What he read surprised him, he had been expecting victory cries, a feast or three, his father honouring the few fallen AEsir soldiers – he knew this bit already, this is what had happened – but instead, he found himself reading about a casket, a casket and a small infant boy, a baby Frost Giant found abandoned in Laufey's castle by Odin and taken along with the casket back to Asgard, rescued from an almost sure death. He knew from his schoolmasters lessons that the casket contained the Tesseract, the magic energy source responsible for much of the Frost Giants power, but he had never come across this orphan boy before, had never heard tales of him. Loki wondered who he was, what had happened to him – if the book was true (and Loki had had no reason to doubt it, up until this point) the surely the boy should still be in Asgard? Why had his father never mentioned him? Had Odin kept the boy in the palace, or had him adopted? (Loki mentally ran through a list of all the serving staff and kitchen boys he knew, to no immediate avail.) Was the boy even still alive? Was he a Frost Giant still, or would be count as an AEsir now?

Loki was greatly confused and made up his mind to ask his father that evening about what he'd read, surely it had to be made up, no other books had ever spoken about a Jotun-born boy in Asgard before.

But…if it _was_ true, and the boy did exist, Loki wondered who he was. He'd be the same age as himself, right now... Loki didn't have that many friends apart from Thor, he was shy and quiet and a bit of an outsider. If this boy _had_ become an AEsir, and wasn't dangerous (and Loki doubted his father would have brought back a child who posed a future danger to his realm) Loki wondered if they could possibly become friends.


	5. Chapter 5

_A/N: OK, it's 2am, I only just remembered I hadn't done today's drabble, and thus I have no idea what just came out of my brain._

_ Apparently it's Christmas and apparently I have a case of the Domestic Avengers._

I'm going to read this back in the morning and question my sanity.

**Day 5. Order**.

It was absolute chaos.

Someone, probably Thor, had got confused over the actual dynamics of a 'Christmas tree' and had actually dug a hole in the living room floor, filled it with dirt, and proceeded to 'plant' and entire oak tree there. A baby oak tree, but still.

Someone, probably Thor, had been put in charge of hanging up stockings, stockings which found themselves draped inside the multi functional triple door barbeque oven, because that's where real fire came from, not the hole filled with tiny rocks that everyone had _said _was the fireplace.

Someone, probably Thor, had got carried away with the whole idea of 'wrapping presents' and hadn't seemed to realise that goats eat paper. And everything else. And that a goat probably wasn't the best present to give your girlfriend with the view of proposing to her anyway.

Someone, _not_ Thor, was trying desperately to wind fairy lights around the bare branches of an uprooted oak tree whilst someone else took several slightly smouldering stockings out to the garbage bin and someone else tried somewhat unsuccessfully to shoehorn a goat out of the French windows.

Someone else, _also_ not Thor, had made mince pies, and everyone stopped what they were doing to munch in gratitude and savour the cinnamon and nutmeg and currents and…beef. Because this someone, not naming any names this time, had thought it a hilarious prank to take the shopping list absolutely literally.

Chaos.

But everyone knows Christmas is a time for families, and when your family involves two ancient gods from another realm entirely, an astrophysicist, a genius billionaire playboy philanthropist, a star spangled man with a plan, two hot to trot (especially with each other) assassins and guy who just might probably maybe kill Santa if the old buffoon makes too much noise and disturbs his nightly Jnana Yoga practice, there isn't much room left for order.

Thor would probably try to adopt it anyway.


	6. Chapter 6

_A/N: Ohmygod why am I writing and uploading fic at 3.20am. This is even more ridiculous than yesterdays Domestic Avengers. But, I figured since that one was light and funny and short, this one could be longer and darker and more painful. It isn't as sad as Day 3, DON'T WORRY I CAN'T DO THAT TO MYSELF AGAIN, but it's still nasty and sad ALTHOUGH do not despair till it's over. Promise. You'll see. Be prepared for feels though, fucking feels are everywhere here. _

_Content: Loki, punished Loki, after-Avengers, angst, very tenuous link to prompt word. VERY tenuous. But it's there._

_ - __Warning: contains mild detail/implicit torture. _

_Disclaimer: Characters are not mine. Kind-of-sick idea is._

**Day 6. Prepared.**

The cell was damp and rough and the cold seeped through to Loki's bones, freezing him from the inside out, his skin grazing harshly on the jagged stone whenever he tried to move.

His wrists were red raw and shackled to the wall behind him, his arms pulled up over his head, long overtaken by the excruciating, unrelenting ache of punishment.

His feet weren't bound, nor fixed down, but that mattered not – he was so weak after so many days without food and nothing to nourish him but for the rainwater tickling his cracked, parched lips that he could not summon the energy to move, even if he wanted to.

His magic was dwindling by the hour, and he could feel it drain out of his body, out of his very pores – the one comfort he had, the one bit of warmth, stripped from him along with his name and his dignity and his freedom.

His clothes were ragged and soaking wet, and his skin ever so pale, paler than death, pale with a blue tinge that only served to make him colder. Angry red welts and deep purple bruises covered the bits of himself that he could see, he could feel them on the bits he couldn't.

His cell was tiny, too tiny to house a person. The little space that wasn't taken up with his broken and maimed body was filled with whispers of his crimes, whispers of his past that wouldn't go away, that floated heavily through the air, pressing against his head, his chest, his eyes, his ears, suffocating him, torturing him until he couldn't scream anymore.

He could taste blood and dirt and rain, and underneath these, something even more bitter.

Loneliness, regret, and remorse.

He had lost everything, everyone. Again. But this time he hadn't chosen to give up, this time everyone had given up on him. Odin, his advisor, the Council of Justice, the citizens of Asgard. Every single one of them had renounced him and cast him out, cast him out to face his fate alone. Thor hadn't even shown up for his trial. Loki didn't know if his brother didn't care, or just wasn't aware. Either way, there's nothing Thor could have done. Not now.

He was being punished for letting go, he knew it. He was being punished for the things that happened because he let go. But they couldn't see that all he'd ever wanted was for someone to grab onto him, to pull him back. They'd been disgusted at him, ashamed. Appalled. He'd seen it in their faces as he was led through the palace to face his sentencing. He saw no love, but then again, he never had. He should have expected this. He should have expected that if he hadn't died when he fell, he was going to die now. And not at his own hands, not by his own choice.

Didn't they see this wasn't what he'd wanted? That everything he'd done hadn't been what he'd wanted? Didn't they understand? Did they hate him that much that they'd willingly see him rot, day after day, pain after unspeakable pain, until the time came when he couldn't take any more and he finally perished, alone and unloved and locked away, beyond all hope and all help?

Couldn't they see he was sorry, couldn't they see he was hurting already, that he was screaming inside long before they'd started punishing him, that he hadn't meant any of it, not really, that he just wanted to be admired and accepted? Couldn't any of them recognise him for what he was, a shattered soul desperately wanting to be mended?

No, nobody had. And instead of mending him, they'd broken him further, twisting every shard of pain further and deeper into him, before throwing him here and leaving the pieces to disintegrate inside until there was nothing left.

And yet Nothing was taking too long to come, she was cruel, egging him to fight her minute by minute, not letting him succumb to the wonder and emptiness that was his inevitable release. His only reward. All she gave him was more agony and more anguish and more torment, forcing him to hang on, to endure, when all he wanted was to let go, but it seemed in this world you only got that invoke that privilege once.

He'd lost count of the days, the hours, the minutes. He'd lost all sensation now in his arms. His body was numb from remaining in the same position for what felt like aeons, and he could barely gather the strength to open his eyes. The rain had stopped, he could only feel the breeze. It skimmed over his cuts and ripped at their edges, stinging and biting.

The breeze got stronger.

The breeze turned into wind, buffeting and crashing against the stone, pulling and grabbing at his hair and the tendrils of his clothes.

A slow rumble.

More wind, more rumbles.

A flash.

Loki forced his eyes open as though his lids were made of lead, and tried to focus, tried to see through the hazy fog that had replaced his vision. He heard another rumble, and he felt another gust of wind blow right inside his cell, shaking it's very foundations. He strained, with everything he had left. He saw a blur of silver and red and blonde. He heard a voice, indiscernible through its own tears and pain and wretchedness. He felt something warm, a hand perhaps, place itself on the hollow of his sunken cheek, he felt the whisper of a mouth near his ear and tasted the salty liquid on a cheek that wasn't his own.

He felt shame, sorrow, remorse, anger. Someone else's shame, sorrow, remorse and anger. It seeped through him as the rain had done. He felt dizzy. He couldn't hear what the other man was saying, but he could understand. Just.

This was his release, and for the second time in his life, it wasn't being given to him by Nothing. This time the person who he'd found it hardest to let go of was the person who had just caught him.

The wind howled, the sky roared, his shackles snapped, and Loki lurched forward, prepared to hold on with everything he had left.


End file.
